


The In Between

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:47:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: Quentin gets drunk after Eliot's moment of bravery. Awkward conversations and feelings ensue.





	The In Between

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess this is my hat thrown into the ring after trying to process 4X12. Set, given the pacing of this show, somewhere mid-season 5 (5X05?).
> 
> Title taken from a thesaurus search of "limbo".
> 
> Thanks to @quellthefire for the read over and support!

Quentin marched into the common room and slammed a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of Eliot. He held two glasses between the fingers of his other hand. “We need to talk.” He was wobbling a little; Eliot could tell he had already indulged in some liquid courage. He always _had_ been the brave one. Quentin inclined his head towards Margo, silently asking her to give them some space.

“Whatever you have to say, Q, you can say it in front of me.” Margo crossed her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow at Quentin.

“No, I can’t.” Eliot could tell Quentin was annoyed that he had to deal with her sass--he was clearly on a Mission™.

Eliot turned to face Margo. “No, he can’t.” Margo literally didn’t even know the half of it.

Margo swung her hair around and stood, managing to look down at Quentin even though he was taller. “If you fucking break his heart, Coldwater, I swear to God they’ll have to scrape you from the walls.”

Quentin snorted at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

Margo gave one last check in, but Eliot just gave her a tight smile, cutting her free. She went off to--fuck Josh, most likely. Eliot took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Just as his therapist had advised. In-and-out. One day at a time. He opened the bottle and poured two healthy glasses. Not exactly in the therapy retinue, but when in Rome.

Quentin still stood across the coffee table, could’ve been across the world. He slammed his glass back, sloppily wiping his hand across his mouth. He held it out for Eliot to refill. Eliot slammed his own before refilling both. When in fucking Rome. “So.” Quentin began, then shrugged, slamming down a second glass. He was a lightweight; Eliot knew this. Knew he would be well on his way to being drunk pretty quickly if he continued in this way. Drunken Quentin could be quite enjoyable, but Eliot had a feeling this wasn’t going to be one of _those_ kind of nights. “One more.” He held the glass out. Eliot, skeptical, raised an eyebrow before indulging. “I wanna be drunk.”

“Right. I mean, you could directly inject the alcohol into your bloodstream, but where’s the fun in that?” Eliot was aiming for light; Quentin responded with an eye roll, shaking the glass for emphasis. “Alright.” He tried to keep the tone from his voice, but the way Quentin eyed him, he fucking caught it, anyways.

Quentin drained the glass, gagging slightly and clearing his throat to power through, his eyes watering a little. “So.” He walked around the table (thank, Christ) and settled next to Eliot on the couch. Deliberately not touching. He pulled the bottle from Eliot’s hand and poured himself a fourth, but then set the glass on the table, untouched. He stared at the glass for a full minute (hour) before speaking. “I gave you my whole heart. And you smashed it into a million pieces.”

Eliot froze, mid-sip. Right for the throat, apparently. He drained his glass and poured another, but left it on the table next to Quentin’s. The dick answer would be “Yeah. I was there.” And, he _was_ , in fact, a dick, so that’s what he says. He also got to experience the re-run in its full technicolor glory, so.

He can tell Quentin is a little thrown by his answer as he kind of--stopped, pointedly trying not to cut his eyes over. Then, he took a deep breath and was off to the races. “So. I’m with Alice now. I love her. She was the first person I ever loved who loved me _back_.” He picked up his drink, but just rolled it between his fingers. “And, I know things haven’t always been great between me and her. But, you have to understand. I was so fucking lost, Eliot. And, alone. And, just so fucking _sad_ for so long. I lost my center, my core. My best friend. At that point, as far as I knew, I’d lost _both_ of them.”

Eliot picked up his glass and took a healthy swallow. Normally he would have cut in at some point. But, he wanted to let the rant run its course to the inevitable, awful end. He owed Quentin that much.

Quentin, ever the brave little toaster, just plowed ahead. “And, my God, Eliot. You _rejected_ me. You told me we wouldn’t work here; we wouldn’t choose each other. Fuck, I spent the better part of the past _year_ trying to get over you. To fall out of love with you.” He looked over at Eliot, his eyes a mix of pain and anger that was absolutely _gutting_. “Did you really need to twist the knife and tell me to ‘go play life partners with someone else for a little while’? Like it was a fucking game?”

When Eliot leaned hard into being an asshole, he tended to twist the dial up to an eleven. He remained silent, staring straight ahead. He deserved this; all of it. He deserved more.

“And then, I fucking thought I _lost_ you. So many times. Do you know he told me you were dead? Right after my _dad_ died. Oh, by the way, Eliot’s dead. Just like that. Oh, by the way, looks like rain.”

Eliot swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Q.”

“So, I was alone and at the end of my fucking rope, and there she was. Past her, anyways.” He waved his hands around his head. _Science_. “It was a thing we had to do to get a spell. And she tells me I’m the best thing that has ever happened to her. And, so. I need something to give me the tiniest spark of _joy_ , to give me _any_ thing to hold on to, at this point. And then. And, _then_. I have _you_ back. After all the, Jesus--” He pulls on his hair.

Eliot knows he hates it’s too short.

“And then, you’re telling me. How you fucked up. That you loved me. Always had. Should’ve given us a shot. And I--” He finally ran out of steam, taking a long sip from his drink, his voice a little shaky now. “And, Jesus Christ. What am I supposed to do with that, Eliot?”

Eliot let out on long sigh. “I honestly have no idea.” Quentin just scoffed and shook his head. “I fucked up. I mean, you’ve met me.” He swished his glass around in a circle before taking another sip. “In my defense, and, granted, it is a pretty indefensible position. But, I was trapped in my mind palace (tormented by my own thoughts prison) the entire time. And, the only way I could break through and let you know I was still alive was to go through a montage of my shittiest, most terrible regrets. And, you know me better than anyone. So, that list? Was pretty fucking long.”

Quentin was staring at him, but Eliot still wouldn’t turn. Needed to get this out. Quentin’s eyes felt like twin suns burning holes into his face.

“So, yeah. The deal was, once I found the worst thing, the biggest regret of my entire life, a door would appear. Letting me break through. Bad haircuts. Sleeping with other people’s boyfriends.” At that one, he did incline his head towards Quentin. “Oh, and I don’t think even _you_ know about this one--beating up my childhood best friend because he was accused of being gay.” He did allow his eyes to roam over to Quentin before slipping back away. Quentin looked appropriately appalled. (My work's done here). “Yep. Still no fucking door.” He licked his lips, staring into the depths of his glass. He shrugged, easy peasy. “Then, I figured it out.” He picked up the bottle again, intending to pour, but just ended up twirling its neck between the fingers of his free hand. He took in a deep breath. “Turned out, the memory that made the door appear was you.”

“Your biggest regret was _me_?” Quentin was far too drunk to keep the anguish from his tone.

Eliot rushed to correct him. “No! Of _course_ not. The opposite, actually. My biggest regret was turning you down. When you asked me. When you _chose_ me. That’s what made the door appear.”

“Eliot.” Quentin licked his lips slowly.

“Look, Q. It was a selfish thing for me to say. I get that now. I should’ve--” He blew out a long breath. “It wasn’t fair for me to do. And, I never intended to hurt you. Or confuse you. Or complicate things for you.” He sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “If I could take back the words, I would.”

Quentin took in a sharp breath. “You would?” He glanced over at Eliot with such a naked look of _hurt_ that his heart _ached_. “You'd take back what you said?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I just--” He allowed himself to look Quentin straight in the face. “I’m managing to fuck this up even more, aren’t I?”

Quentin didn’t say anything for a long moment. He seemed to start and stop himself several times before figuring out what he wanted to say. “I love Alice.” His eyes were shining, “But, there is this big part of me that is terrified that I will never be able to be _enough_. To be able give her what she deserves. Because what we had? You and me?” He pinched in the corners of his eyes to stave off any tears, and then dropped his hand down onto his leg. “But, I’m having a hard time trusting you, Eliot. If fifty fucking years wasn’t enough to prove to you--”

“I know.” Eliot’s heart was beating far too fast in his chest. He turned again to address Quentin. “Let me make a deal with you, Q. If you want me to, I’ll fight for you. I’ll _prove_ to you how much I love you. (Bravery fucking sucked) But, if you ask me to back away, I’ll do that, too.” He paused for a moment. “Because, the biggest fucking tragedy of all this would be to lose you as a friend.”

“Never.” Quentin said with such conviction, such surety, that Eliot couldn’t help but to lean a little into hope. He always was an idiot.

Eliot nodded a few times, his own vision getting blurry. “Ok. Well, unfortunately, that means that you have to make a choice. Because we can’t exist here in limbo. That _will_ ruin us.”

Quentin’s eyebrows knit together in that _way_. Then his face softened, eyes racing back and forth, catching glances. Eliot could feel the moment building, thrumming under his skin. He had to be patient, though. The ball was not in his court.

Just then, Alice came into the room, eyes going wide at the sight of them. “Q?”

Quentin sat upright. Startled. _Guilty_. “Oh, hey.”

Alice regarded Eliot _nervously_ for a second before refocusing on Quentin. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you.”

Quentin slapped at his pockets. “Oh, sorry, I must’ve left my phone in the room.”

“I--uh.” Alice’s eyes slipped over towards Eliot again. There was a hint of sympathy there that Eliot just couldn’t handle right now. “I--sorry. I need to talk to you, Q.” And, bless her if she wasn’t really _trying_ this go around.

“Right. Ok.” Quentin carefully placed his glass on the table, fingers lingering a little. Giving himself a second. He took a deep breath, before looking over at Eliot. “Talk later?”

Eliot found that he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “Yep.”

Quentin stood, following Alice out of the room. She was speaking to him over her shoulder, but her tone was warm and teasing. “Jesus, Q, are you drunk? You smell like a distillery.”

Eliot just stared into the space they had just vacated for a long moment before tipping the bottle to his lips, feeling the burn all the way down. He breathed in-and-out. One day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Kudos and comments are love!


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